Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
EMMA EASTON
I don’t know what hurts more—seeing him again, or seeing him like this. He’s sitting across from me on the couch now, pretending to care about a slice of pizza he hasn’t even touched.
He’s somewhere else. Somewhere dark.
I take a small bite just to fill the silence. I’m used to long, drawn-out quiet when I’m with my clients. Sometimes they’ll just sit with me and never say a word. But even that can be enough. Sharing space so it doesn’t feel like you’re the only one holding up the roof.
“You can crash here if you want,” I say softly. “The couch is quite comfortable.”
His head lifts, surprise flickering through those hazel eyes.
“I can’t do that—” His hands twitch. His leg bounces.
He keeps swallowing, like something’s lodged in his throat.
I used to know his every expression. Every laugh, every mood shift before he even spoke.
And right now, I know he’s barely holding himself together.
When I stand to take the pizza box to the counter, I hear him whisper something—so faint I almost think I imagined it.
“Sorry.”
I turn. “For what?”
He looks up at me, eyes rimmed in red. “For all of it.”
The sound of his voice breaking like that makes my chest ache so deeply it’s almost unbearable. I cross the room before I can think better of it and kneel beside him, resting my hand on his knee. He flinches.
“It broke my heart when you left, yes,” I whisper. “But I accepted it. I got on with my life. I thought of you way more than I probably should have...but I lived my life.”
For a long time, we stay like that—me kneeling beside him, his head bowed.
Then he whispers, “I don’t know how to stop. We’ve tried getting out before, but when we were caught, they forced us to detox for days. I thought I was going to die. It hurt so fucking bad.”
My stomach drops.
“You were...forced?” I ask, my voice louder than I thought it would be.
Forced isn’t a word that belongs anywhere near his life.
He exhales slowly. “I can’t really explain a whole lot.”
“You’re an adult,” I say, frowning. “You’re rich. Famous. You’re supposed to have free will.”
His heavy-lidded eyes lift to mine. He holds my gaze for several beats before saying, “My life is complicated.”
A bitter coldness blooms in my chest. “We can figure something out. You could go to rehab and get clean.”
He stares ahead, hollow. “It’s not that simple, Em.”
“I know it might seem nearly impossible,” I say, my voice cracking. Tears burn behind my eyes, my throat tightening until I have to force the words out. “I just don’t want you to die.”
He looks away, blinking fast. When he exhales, it shakes. “I should probably get back before they start calling,” he murmurs. “I’m not at the house with Micah. Adriana especially won’t like that I’m out this late.”
“Who is she to care?” I ask quickly. “Their hold on you is toxic. You’re your own person with your own life. I don’t understand. What have you done that’s so bad, Jude? How exactly do they own you?”
He stills. His jaw tightens, eyes fixed on the floorboards. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I do.”
He shakes his head. “Not tonight.”
I nod, but he doesn’t move. His eyes are tired. Haunted. Still the same ones I fell in love with. And when he looks at me again, everything we were and everything we never got to be collide all at once.
He rises and wanders toward the front door, hands shoved deep in his pockets, hair messier than before. “I’ll come by tomorrow?” he asks quietly. “I unblocked your number. You can text me now.”
“Okay.” My voice barely exists.
We stand there a few seconds too long, neither of us ready to end this. He pulls his hoodie up and slips a cigarette from his pocket for the drive. His gaze flickers to my mouth, and I hold my breath.
He steps close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off him. He always ran so warm that I used to call him my furnace. His fingers brush my cheek, and I close my eyes because it’s too much. Because I want him. Because...I never stopped.
I lean in.
He freezes.
I open my eyes. His hand is still on my face, but his expression has gone distant. Guilt flashes through it like lightning. “What’s wrong?” I whisper, suddenly embarrassed.
Dammit. I shouldn’t have done that.
He’s vulnerable. I’m selfish. I’m so selfish. But I can’t help it. I miss him in a way that physically hurts.
He swallows hard. “I—I can’t.”
My heart stumbles. “Why?”
He looks at the floor, then back at me. “I don’t think I have anything,” he admits, voice raw with shame. “I’ve only been with Adriana since you. But...the needles…”
Needles.
The room tilts.
I step back without meaning to, my hand pressing against my chest as if that might steady me. My god.
“We can fix that,” I whisper after a moment, blinking hard. “I can order a test.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that for me.” His eyes glisten. “I can do it.”
“I want to,” I say. “We can go together.”
His jaw tightens. He shakes his head. “If I stay here any longer, I’m going to kiss you. And if I kiss you, I won’t stop. And I can’t risk you like that.” His voice drops. “I’ve already put you in danger just by letting you help.”
I open my mouth to ask what the hell he means by that, but I snap it shut.
He brushes his thumb along my jaw one last time. “I’ll text you when I get home.”
And then he’s gone.
The door closes softly behind him, and I stand there in the quiet, tears finally spilling over. What kind of danger doesn’t allow him to have free will?
I change into my pajamas and slip into bed, the sheets cool against my flushed skin. My heart still hasn’t even gotten close to slowing. It beats like he’s still standing in front of me, like his breath is still fanning over my lips, like his fingers are still curled gently beneath my jaw…
I know he’s drowning in his own mess, fighting demons I can’t see...but god, I was so close to letting him kiss me anyway.
My breathing turns shallow before I even notice it happening. A tightness climbs up my chest, like something with claws is dragging itself up my throat. An anxiety attack, full-force and brutal. And when the first tear slips free, the rest follow fast.
I’ve held strangers’ pain, friends’ pain, countless stories of trauma in my hands.
..but reopening this particular wound feels like ripping through scar tissue that was supposed to heal.
What we had wasn’t just love—it was rare and bright and beautiful.
Seeing him now, hollowed out and hurting, stirs a violent devastation in me.
A rage so deep it scares me. It’s a fury born from love, loss, confusion, and the unfairness of what stole him from me.
Eventually, the sobs taper off, leaving me completely wrung out. I pull the covers up to my chin and switch off the lamp, the room sinking into a soft darkness. The only sound is my heartbeat pounding loud in my ears, like it’s trying to drown out my thoughts.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I reach for my phone.
Drive safe. I wish you didn’t have to leave.
I set the phone on my chest, waiting. I don’t expect a reply. He’s probably still driving. I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking about him in bed with me. He was the most incredible lover I’ve ever had. I remember what he sounded like, what he felt like...
My phone buzzes, startling me.
JUDE
Trust me, I wanted to. But it’s better this way. It’s really good seeing you again.
I bite my lip, emotions catching in my throat. Before I can talk myself out of it, I press call.
He answers on the second ring. “Emma?” His voice is quiet, rough with exhaustion and even curiosity.
I smile softly into the dark. “Hey.”
There’s a pause, and a low exhale. “You okay?”
I swallow. “I don’t know. I just...didn’t want the night to end yet.”
He’s silent for a moment. Then he chuckles through his nose. “Yeah, me neither.”
Suddenly I’m smiling. Sure, he’s the love of my life, but I feel like I’m getting to know him again. My stomach is wild with butterflies right now.
“I’ve missed you so much. I...I just...” I grip the phone tighter because I’m having the hardest time not begging him to come back and make love to me like he used to.
No one has loved me like he did. No one made me feel as good as he did, and I long for that again.
He knew my mind, body, and my soul. And I wonder how much of it he would remember.
I’m so foolish and weak for wanting him like this.
“I know.” He exhales shakily. The silence stretches, filled with all the things we can’t say out loud. And then, so quietly I almost miss it, he says, “I’m pulling up now, I’ve got to go. Um...goodnight, Em.”
My throat tightens. I close my eyes, whispering back, “Goodnight, Jude.”
When the line goes dead, I lie there for a long time. But now, something has changed. I at least feel hopeful now.
I’m going to save him.
The bell over the door jingles as my last client leaves. I’m still cleaning my brushes when Jude walks in, a little after five, his hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it a lot. He smells faintly of smoke and his amber cologne, and for some reason, that alone makes my heart flutter.
“You’re early,” I say, smiling despite myself. “Wasn’t expecting you for another, like, twenty minutes.”
He grins faintly, shoving his hands into his black jacket pocket. “Didn’t have anything else to do.”
There’s something about the way he says it that twists in my chest. “You can sit. I’m just finishing up.”
He takes the stool beside me, eyes trailing over the half-finished painting. “You’ve gotten so much better.”
I laugh, dipping my brush into a jar of murky water. “You say that like I used to suck.”
“Oh, stop it,” he says, his lips twitching into that old smile. For a while, the only sound is the quiet acoustic music playing from my speaker. I feel him watching me, and the nerves bubbling up.
“What are you really doing during your little health break?” I ask.